


Maybe He's Born With It

by Aramley



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-18
Updated: 2009-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-17 19:56:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aramley/pseuds/Aramley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Rafa frowned down at the stuff spread out on the bed, the shiny brand new compact and tubes of lipstick and mascara and other things. Roger hadn't stolen from Mirka's collection; he'd braved the hotel shop, picked out this stuff just for Rafa. He was serious</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe He's Born With It

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://aramleys-words.livejournal.com/5522.html).

Rafa was wary, at first, when Roger was explaining what he wanted. It didn't help that Roger couldn't even really articulate what it was he wanted, or _why_ \- he barely knew himself, knew only that the image was sharp and insistent in his mind, and that it made him so turned on he couldn't _breathe_ sometimes. He could only show Rafa the stuff, and explain what he wanted to do with it, and hope that Rafa could get on board.

Rafa frowned down at the stuff spread out on the bed, the shiny brand new compact and tubes of lipstick and mascara and other things. Roger hadn't stolen from Mirka's collection; he'd braved the hotel shop, picked out this stuff just for Rafa. He was serious.

"You want this?" Rafa asked, looking up at Roger, searching his face.

"I - yeah," Roger said. He could feel the flush across his cheekbones, but he kept Rafa's gaze, trying to convey honesty and openness.

Rafa nodded. "Okay," he said.

Roger let out a breath. "Really?"

"Yes," said Rafa. "I trust you." He looked down at the stuff on the bed again, reaching out with one finger to touch a sleek black tube of lipstick. "You want me to -?"

"No," Roger said, swallowing. "I'll - I mean, I want to. If it's okay?"

"It's okay," Rafa said, nodding, meeting Roger's eyes again. Roger's stomach leapt. This was going to happen.

He made Rafa sit down on the edge of the bed, but the height difference was too awkward and so he made Rafa shuffle backwards a little ways so that Roger could kneel over him, straddling Rafa's thighs with his knees pressed tight at Rafa's hips, and that was - God, that was good, yes, distractingly good, with the shared warmth of their bodies pressed together. Rafa put his hands on Roger's hips, steadying him, his thumbs resting in the hollows, pressing warm through the material of Roger's jeans. Pressing a little too hard, maybe.

"Stop distracting me," Roger said, smiling a little as he brushed Rafa's hair back from his face to tuck it neatly away behind his ears. Rafa's answering smile was sharp-edged and predatory, but his eyes were soft, still a little unsure. "Trust me," said Roger, pressing a kiss to Rafa's mouth.

"I trust you," Rafa murmured against Roger's lips.

"Okay. Good." Roger reached over to the scattered cosmetics on the bed, sifting through. He'd read up on this, he knew the steps. He'd googled it, and been terrified for a solid week that Mirka would dredge something up from his browsing history. So he knew it was supposed to be foundation first and he didn't have that, but there was blusher here, and a broad soft-bristled brush - he picked them up, aware all the time of Rafa watching his hands, waiting for him. Roger's hands were shaking a little as he undid the package, and his heart was pounding. This was ridiculous, but he couldn't stop. He loaded up the brush with the powder, and paused, meeting Rafa's eyes again. Rafa stared back at him, eyes wide and dark, open and accepting. He squeezed Roger's hips and the gesture felt like an encouragement, like _come on, do this_.

"Okay," said Roger, like you'd say _here goes nothing_ , and touched the brush to Rafa's skin, sweeping a slow, gentle line across Rafa's cheekbone. Rafa's eyelids fluttered, just a fraction; his eyes he kept fixed on Roger's, though Roger wasn't meeting his, too fascinated by the work of his own hands. It was so intimate, almost terrifyingly so. The slow sweep of the brush across Rafa's skin, one cheekbone and then the other, was like the most delicate of caresses.

"Eyes," Roger said, more to himself than to Rafa, when the blusher was finished with. That was more intimate still, Rafa's eyes shut while Roger smoothed over them delicately, framing them with dark liner. The room was silent except for their breathing, quick and a little shallow. Outside in the hallway voices came and went; once laughter sounded right outside the door, and they both froze, as though they were about to be caught in the act. "Sorry," Roger murmured, when the voices had passed a safe distance away again, dabbing away a black smudge at the corner of Rafa's eye, and Rafa made a small noise that might have been acceptance or protest or relief, eyes still patiently closed while Roger went on with eyeshadow and mascara.

And finally, finally, the lipstick: bright cherry red, gliding silky smooth against Rafa's lips, no resistance at all. Roger let out a shivery breath at the final stroke, tossing the lipstick away to clatter amongst the rest of the discarded cosmetics while he leaned back a little to examine his handiwork.

He'd been afraid that the reality wouldn't match the image in his mind, that Rafa would look foolish or clownish or ridiculous somehow, like the kind of exaggerated joke drag people did for a joke. He'd been afraid of that. But Rafa looked - "Beautiful," Roger breathed, ghosting his fingers along the sharp line of Rafa's cheekbone, emphasised by the blush. "God, Rafa. Look at you."

Rafa opened his eyes, the thick black lashes fluttering. "You like?" he said, like he couldn't feel Roger pressing rock hard against him. He tightened his grip on Roger's hips and hitched his own upwards, the sudden pressure almost excruciatingly good.

"Look at you," Roger said again, when he'd caught his breath. It was all he could do - Rafa so beautiful, so fucking beautiful with his wide dark eyes darkened further by the eye make-up, and that lush red mouth.

"Not only for to look at," Rafa said, and he hooked a hand around the back of Roger's neck to drag him in for a wet, lingering kiss that tasted of sweet lipstick. The slight feminine scent of the cosmetics overlaid the heavier scent of the cologne that Rafa used for shaving; a heady, intoxicating combination.

Rafa pulled back just a little, enough that he could gasp against Roger's mouth, "What you want? Tell me."

"Want - God, Rafa, so good - your mouth," Roger panted, past embarrassment as brushed his fingers gently over the fullness of Rafa's lower lip, the lipstick smeared a little already, and Rafa let out a choked moan and flipped them both so that Roger landed flat on his back, the air all going out of him (as if he could breathe anyway, with Rafa above him looking like that - so fucking beautiful).

"You want my mouth?" Rafa licked his lips, wetting the red so that it glistened pornographically while his hands worked the zip and buttons of Roger's jeans, pressing down hard enough that Roger just about saw stars.

"Want," Roger gasped, helpless while Rafa eased his jeans and underwear down over his hips, taking Roger's cock in his hand. He stroked once, twice, and Roger had to stop himself from thrusting upwards into the loose trap of Rafa's fingers, so close, so good but not what he wanted, not now. "Rafa, _please_."

"Watch," Rafa breathed out through a sharp-edged teasing smile, and he lowered his head and took Roger into his mouth, all wet heat and clever tongue swirling, and Roger had to suck in a breath that was closer to a sob to keep from crying out. _Watch_ , Rafa had said, as if Roger could do anything but, and there was no fucking way he was going to last seeing Rafa's mouth red and slick and stretched obscenely around Roger's flushed cock, pulling him closer to the bright edge of orgasm with each liquid movement, eyes shut until he looked up through the thick black eyelashes to meet Roger's gaze, dark eyes glittering as he hollowed his cheeks and let his teeth scrape the faintest friction against the sensitized skin and Roger's world split apart as he came.

When he could breathe again at last, Rafa had crawled up his body to sprawl comfortably half on top of him with their legs tangled together, leaning over Roger on one elbow, his other hand trailing gently through Roger's hair. They were still both fully clothed, except for Roger's undone jeans. Roger looked up at Rafa, the smudged eye make-up and the ruined red mouth open and panting with strands of sweat-damp hair clinging to his wet lips, the most maddeningly beautiful thing Roger had ever seen. Roger reached up to trace the line of his jaw. "Do you need -?"

"No," said Rafa, a little ruefully, gesturing down at himself with a half-smile. "Seeing you - fuck, Roger," he said, and leaned down to kiss Roger thoroughly, the cosmetic sweetness laced with the slightly bitter taste that Roger recognised as the taste of himself. The kiss was slow and honey-sweet, turning lazy as they settled closer together with the approaching heaviness of sleep.

"Should undress," Roger murmured against Rafa's mouth. "Should take this off," he said, smearing the scarlet lipstick further around Rafa's mouth. Rafa looked - debauched, was the word. It was fascinating.

"You too," said Rafa with a small smile, thumbing the skin around Roger's mouth. What a pair they must make, Roger thought. "But it will keep, for now," Rafa said, pressing another kiss against Roger's mouth, and lower against his jaw, before settling in to tuck his head against Roger's neck, eyelashes tickling as he closed his eyes.


End file.
